


A Shattered Gun Under Hand

by Stephanielikes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Manhandling, Oral Sex, Roughness, Slightly Longer Than Short Story, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:20:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1503461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stephanielikes/pseuds/Stephanielikes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley knows Sam will do anything to free Dean from the Mark of Cain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Shattered Gun Under Hand

               Waiting until the fire scorched his fingertips, Sam dropped the match into the bowl. The powdered mixture fizzled before spouting a blinding flare six inches high. He shielded his stinging eyes, the flame lasting longer than should be possible. The fire snuffed out, plunging the dirty hunting lodge into dusky greyness. Even before his vision readjusted, Sam knew he wasn’t alone. The Demon King stood under the painted devil’s trap turning to face the hunter who’d summoned him.

               The two sized each other up, the difference in their demeanours as stark as the difference in their heights. As always, Crowley wore a pressed black suit, tailored perfectly to his frame. He stood straight, his shoulders back and relaxed with one hand in a pocket and the other holding a tumbler of vintage scotch. Sam hunched in raggedy jeans and a stained t-shirt, wrinkled from days of non-stop travel, not bothering to push the greasy strand of hair hanging in front of his hollow features. The cheap bourbon that helped convince him this was the only way he’d drunk straight from the bottle that was sitting on the table beside his spellwork.

                “Hello, Moose.” Crowley smiled smugly, looking around the room. Bringing his glass to his lips, and before taking a sip, he asked “Where’s Squirrel?”

                Sam drew the demon blade from his back pocket, his fingers slipping comfortably into the grooves; he pointed the silver tip at the demon’s throat, “Give him back.”

                “Even if I were inclined to do so, are you sure that’s what you want?”

                Sam hesitated; was there a reason he wouldn’t want Dean released from the curse?

                “You could just walk away and it would be like the past two years never happened. Get out. Settle down, have a few mini-mooses. Go back to school. Grow old attending to justice during the week and barbeques on the weekends. Sleep in the same bed every night wrapped in the arms of your loving wife. Make a home for yourself.”

                Listening to the silver tongued lies, Sam almost caved. They had been here before: Dean and Castiel in the wind after defeating the boss monster; Crowley re-securing his position as head douchebag. Sam lowered his dagger. What was the point if after everything – _everything_ – the Winchesters went through they came out on the other side no better off?

                “You’re free, Sam. Wash your hands of it all and I can guarantee Dean never waltzes back in.”

               The point struck home. Despite the similarities, the differences mattered too. This time he knew too well where Dean was, what was happening to him.

                “I won’t let Dean become a monster.” Sam stated without passion, just cold fact.

                Crowley tsked disappointed in the hunter’s bullheadedness, “You seem to think you get a say in how it all ends. You don’t. No matter how many strings you pull, this is where the pieces fall: Hell for Cain, Heaven for Able.”

                Anger boiled in his chest. If that were true – Sam couldn’t believe it, but if it were – the past seven years meant nothing. Fuck, the past 30, if he got down to it. If all he did amounted to the same hand then nothing he had ever done mattered. He bottled the rage before Crowley could see it and exploit it. Rolling out the nylon case, Sam revealed eight syringes filled with purified human blood.

                “If you won’t release Dean, maybe your successor will show more sense.”

                “Do you honestly believe I’ll just stand here while you try the same sorry tricks?”

                “Stand there, lie there, squat and take a shit there, I don’t care, but you will stay there.” He gestured to the demon trap. Crowley didn’t look. He’d known it was there as soon as he’d materialized in this pit. The King of Hell casually removed his hand from his pocket, holding it open palm up. The cabin shook with tremors growing increasingly violent by the second. Dust rained down, coating the surfaces below in a fine layer. Sam grabbed the table for balance, letting the altar bowl fall to the floor but saving the booze.

                _Crack._

_Snap._

                The sounds whipped out into the room as a ceiling beam split, breaking the symbol. The quakes ceased; Crowley stepped out of the busted trap, brushing debris from his jacket. Sam gripped the knife firmly, moving swiftly to stab Crowley in the heart. The King rolled his eyes, flicking his wrist dismissively. Sam flew as if carried by a gale force wind, losing his weapon, and slamming heavily into the plank wall. His ears rang from the impact. The ancient bone handled blade came to rest at Crowley’s feet; he stooped to pick it up.

                “Do I look like stunt demon number three to you?”

                “It’d’ve killed Lilith, it’ll kill you.” Sam strained against the telekinetic force.

                Crowley smiled which only pissed Sam off more. The demon turned his attention to the human blood, caressing the syringes. He gently thumbed the plunger on one, pushing it up in its strap. The hunter pursed his lips, silently urging his captor to give in. Looking longingly at the drugs, Crowley pushed the whole case onto the floor and crushed all eight vials beneath his heel. Smushing Sam’s blood into the floorboard, he left a bubbling wet shoe print when he stepped towards the trapped hunter.

                “If I let you down, will you behave?”

                “If you let me down, I’ll carve out your black heart.”

                “Always the flirt.” Crowley stood inches from Sam, breathing down his chest, inhaling the scent of stale sweat and road dirt. Rubbing his lips together, Crowley eyed the full length of Sam’s body. Sam’s hair stood on end and he had an overwhelming desire to shrink away from that penetrating gaze. The dagger pricked through his t-shirt, pressing into the meat of his stomach when he inhaled. Forced to take small breaths or impale himself on his own blade, his head began to spin. Crowley stepped back just as the blackness crept into the edge of Sam’s vision. Starved for a meaningful breath, he sucked in a deep gulp of air, the loosened dirt irritating his lungs. Placing the knife on the table, Crowley frowned into his soot laced scotch, dumping it sadly on the floor.

                When the force that held him vanished, Sam slid down the wall, his soles once again on solid ground. His joints always felt like Jell-o after being squeezed by the invisible power his enemies possessed. The darkness within reminded him he could have it too. Sam fixated hungrily on Crowley’s throat, the soft flesh where he knew the Carotid artery pulsed full of demon blood.

                “Don’t get the wrong idea, big boy.” Crowley cautioned, sniffing at the bourbon Sam purchased and shaking his head. “I’m a business man. If you want one of my commodities, you should present an offer.”

                That was the game Sam prepared to play. “Free Dean,” the words stuck. He could hear the angel’s voice questioning why the Winchesters ran to destruction.

                “That’s a demand, not a deal.”

                Sam swallowed the acid burning his oesophagus, “Free Dean and that’ll be it. We’ll stop.”

                Crowley bared his teeth in a smile, “You’ll surrender.”

                “We’ll stop going after you.”

                “Won’t hunt me.” Crowley prompted.

                “We won’t hunt you. That’ll be it. Give Dean back and that’s the last you’ll see us.” Dean’s life for safety. It was the same bargain Sam had made the Trickster, before he’d known it was Gabriel, but it felt much more contemptible offering it to the King of Hell.

               Content, Crowley hummed.

                “We have a deal?”

                “No.”

                “No?”

                “It’s a good start.”

                “Start?”

                “Stupid isn’t sexy, darling. It’s not enough. I’d be losing an extremely effective weapon.”

                “Monster or man, Dean will never fight for you. Let him turn and you’ll be deposed. Again.”

                Crowley nodded, conceding to Sam. “I figure I have a few hundred years before Dean gets bored of torture and sets his sights higher. I’m confident I can come up with a way to dispose of him by then. I remove the curse from Dean and you two stop opposing me all together.”

                “Absolutely not.”

                “I’m not asking you to give up your grandiose delusions but let’s say you’re on a case and you find out it’s my design. You stand down and let it continue.”

                Loosening his fingers, Sam wondered if he could distract Crowley long enough to reach the blade without being knocked into the wall.

                “Who do you think will help you if you kill me? Who do you think you’ll be standing across from next time?”

                Dumbstruck, Sam wondered: if he couldn’t save Dean, could he kill him? Not just emotionally, would he physically be able to kill whatever Dean became? Through clenched teeth, he said, “Fine.”

                “Louder, Love.”

                “Bring Dean back to me normal and we don’t knowingly oppose any of your plans.”

                “My designs.”

                Sam rolled his eyes, not caring to argue semantics. “Your designs.”

                “Better. Sweeten the pot, Sammy.”

                The demon’s mockery bordered on too far but Sam bit down, “Don’t be coy. What will it take?”

                “You want me to break a very powerful curse. I’ll need juice to do it.”

                “My soul.”

                “Unless you have someone else’s to bargain with.”

                Sam was so tired of this dance. “How long will you give me?”

                “Until you die.”

                “Yes.”

                Crowley sneered, “What I mean is: No time limit. I don’t collect until you die.”

                “That’s – generous.”

                “Do you think so?”

                “Why?” Sam suddenly wary he was missing a trick, nervous whenever Crowley acted humane.

                “I’m feeling magnanimous. Don’t question it.”

                “Get the contract.”

                “No paper. This is the type penned in blood, etched into your flesh.”

                “Poetic. I’m not kissing you.”

                “Kissing doesn’t do it for me anymore.” Crowley’s eyes roamed down Sam’s muscular chest, over the bulge in his pants, looking lazily over at the thin-mattressed bed. Sam followed the demon’s wandering gaze, his lip curling in disgust.

                “No.”

                “Yes.”

                “Pen and ink was fine a year ago.”

                “It was a simpler deal a year ago.”

                The young man glanced between the bed and the King of Hell, feeling trapped and tiny. “I’ll kiss you.”

                “This isn’t part of the negotiation. You want Dean, strip down and get on the bed.”

                Dread constricted Sam’s chest; he didn’t have to go through with it. There could be another way to help Dean, he would find it. Where to start though? The cold corpse of the man that had been Cain came to mind, mutilated after the killing blow. Sam’d been only a day behind then, but he had to stop, sickened by the increasingly violent deaths left in Dean’s wake. If he walked away now, Dean would be lost before he was saved. Sam couldn’t fail his brother again. Whatever was to be said of Dean’s ethical right to do so, he had never once failed to save Sam. From fire, death and downfall, Dean pulled him back every time. Sam had yet to successfully return the gesture. Turning his back on the waiting demon, Sam peeled his t-shirt over his head, exposing his bare torso.

                Crowley crinkled his nose, disgusted that Sam gave in. He’d planned to cajole the boy while he stripped, but lost any desire to set Sam at ease. _Easy and sentimental,_ Crowley judged, walking over to the duffel bag he knew as Dean’s and riffling through the contents.

                Sam pulled his laces loose and toed out of his boots, hesitating after opening his belt. Huffing as though about to remove a Band-Aid, he shoved belt, jeans, and underpants to his ankles, snapping back to his full height and stepping out of the puddle of clothes at his feet. Covering himself with his hands, he awaited the jeers, turning around when none came.

                “Get out of there!” Sam nearly exposed himself about to reach out and drag the demon away from his brother’s belongings.

                “You better hope Dean’s the man I think he was.” Crowley stopped. “Of course he was.”

                Sam opened his mouth to protest but the words died in revulsion as a tube of K.Y. Jelly was extracted from the bottom of the sack.

                Crowley studied the hunter. Standing in only socks with his hands hiding his manhood, Sam should’ve appeared vulnerable. Tight skin stretched over perfectly sculpted muscles, jaw rigid and eyes narrowed, affecting a haughtiness Crowley’d never seen in him, Sam Winchester lacked only a laurel wreath to embody the Grecian idol, Adonis. Unconcerned with his lost respect for the young man, Crowley let lust wash over him. Tossing the lubricant, instinct worked in the demon’s favour; Sam snatched the tube from the air, rather than get hit in the face, exposing his sex, the smooth cock appearing suddenly from the mess of dark coarse hair. Crowley’s excitement dampened, having always imagined Sam bald or closely cropped.

                “On the bed.” The King commanded. “Prep yourself.” Sam’s face fell horrorstruck and for a moment Crowley believed Sam was coquettishly pressing his buttons. Dragging his feet, Sam walked the few short meters to the bed, the springs protesting as he sat slowly down on the edge. He popped open the tube gently tilting a single shining drop onto the tip of his finger.

                Crowley slipped off his jacket, folding it neatly and placing it on the table. Each article of clothing he removed was folded and put into a stack. Tie, button down and undershirt were all added to the pile before he checked Sam’s progress.

                None. Sam rubbed the first drop between forefinger and thumb. Crowley growled as frustration mixed with lechery. He moved in front of Sam, grabbing his wrist.

                “Hey!” Sam objected but didn’t resist. Crowley squeezed a large glob of lube over Sam’s index and middle fingers, coating them thickly in a slippery shine. He shoved Sam’s knee up and wrapped the boy’s arm around, pinning the leg in place, choosing Sam’s middle finger to slide in first.

                Sam cringed as he let Crowley shove his own digit into his reluctant pucker. It burned mildly and he felt his muscles pulse. Crowley pumped Sam’s hand a few times to get him started before he returned to undressing himself.

                Sitting still, Sam let his body push the slick, intruding finger out, a halfhearted smile spreading across his face. Refusing to believe getting his ass pounded by demon dick was the only way to seal their deal, he attempted to make this more trouble than it was worth for Crowley.

                With his socks pressed flat and draped over his polished shoes, Crowley stood stark naked, turning to Sam. The hunter posed almost exactly as he’d been left, his barely visible asshole glossy from where the finger slid in and slipped out. Crowley knew what Sam was playing at and he could’ve reminded Sam the K.Y. wasn’t for Crowley's own comfort, but he’d done more than enough. Few things were as delicious as cries of pain, his cock engorged with the anticipation of thrusting into Sam’s tight, dry ass.

                The young man stared blankly, forgetting what he was about to do, what was about to happen, losing it so entirely he couldn’t remember why he was nude. He began groping for his clothes, looking around and finding Crowley’s fat cockhead inches from his mouth. Startled, Sam scrambled back. Crowley grinned allowing Sam to escape a few feet before grabbing his calves and dragging him easily back to the end of the squeaky mattress. Sam kicked out, wrenching his hips to the side, trying to scurry away in animalistic flight.

                This was how Crowley fantasized Sam would be: vibrant and violently fighting back. He wanted the bucking, an excuse to be rough, to bruise Sam’s slender hips as he pinned them down. Crowley slid his cock between the fleshy globes surrounding his goal. Sam grunted and jerked, stronger than the demon expected, Crowley couldn’t line up to force inside the hunter. When the tip pressed into the ring of muscle, Sam twisted and Crowley’s prize slipped away. Imprisoning Sam’s ankles in his armpits, Crowley pressed cruelly into the tender hips, holding the boy still long enough to align himself and push half the spongy head into the elusive tightness. Sam spasmed, flinging his groin high and crashing back down, yelping as he jammed the rock hard prick against his tensed buttocks. Crowley’s eyes watered in pain and he lost patience, realizing resistance made for good masturbation fodder but in reality obedience reigned supreme.

                The King released his hold; the young hunter clawed his way back again before thick fingers curled around his neck. Sam dug at the hand crushing his windpipe. Crowley slapped Sam brutally across the face, an inch of skin split open over the cheekbone and the site of impact became swollen.

                “Are you doing this for Dean or not?” Crowley hissed shaking Sam by the throat. Reason returned to his eyes and the hunter glared fiercely. Crowley reconciled himself to having to paralyze Sam when Sam dropped his head back and the tension left his limbs, surrendering.

                Crowley loosed his fingers from Sam’s trachea, appeased. The fight had left his reluctant partner for the moment and he took advantage, slowing down to appreciate the man laid out beneath him. Running his palms over Sam’s chest, he massaged the heels into Sam’s nipples. Crowley lightly dragged his nails down Sam’s abs, grazing his poor hips, and over his thighs. Sam stared dead eyed at the ceiling.

                The showman in Crowley wanted to wrap his lips around Sam’s soft cock and feel it grow hard in his mouth. He wouldn’t. The gesture required a level of vulnerability he couldn’t trust the hunter not to capitalize on. Instead, he pushed Sam’s heels towards his buttocks, propping his legs open. Crowley ran his hand down one toned calf. Sam shifted uncomfortably when the demon slipped his fingers into the elastic band of Sam’s sock, pulling the cotton off his foot, repeating for the other side.

                In Crowley’s fantasy, Sam’s legs were held apart with a spreader bar but reality turned out better - Sam held his legs apart because that was how Crowley wanted him. Giddily the demon spread the exposed ass. Sam flung his arm across his eyes. Crowley pulled Sam’s cheeks so wide his entrance gaped and formed an inviting cave. Drinking in the sight, Crowley watched the muscles tighten and release as Sam waited for Crowley’s cock. Most of the lube rubbed dry in the earlier struggle, Crowley cast around for where the bottle ended up, scooping it from a fold in the sheet near Sam’s foot. He warmed a small amount between his fingers, just enough to avoid chaffing, and swirled the slickness around Sam’s rim, pressing in to coat the wall.

                “No.” Sam whispered. Crowley’s prick teased at his asshole, pushing in just barely enough to sting and pulling back. Sam resented that. If he were going to be fucked he needed it over with before the emotional wall he’d been erecting crumbled.

 _What is Crowley waiting for?_ Sam thought before crying out as white hot pain shot up his spine. His anus burned around Crowley’s full thickness, finally pushed inside.

                “That’s a good Moose,” Crowley cooed, “taking the whole head.”

                Sam choked – _just the head?_

                Neither man nor monster moved. The searing pain dulled as Sam’s ass adjusted to the stretch. He believed he could cope until Crowley fisted his dick. Startled he jolted back, dislodging the cock from his ass, and slipping his cock free of the grasp.

                His mouth a hard line and his eyes cold, he held up a warning finger, “No.”

                A wolfish grin contorted Crowley’s stately features, “Both parties must sign.”

                He slid a hand up Sam’s thigh smoothly transitioning to jack Sam’s semi-stiff member, rubbing his thumb over the slit, coaxing clear pre-come out. The hunter wrenched the demon’s wrist, flinging the captured hand away. Sam put all his strength into his shoulders and bodily shoved; Crowley scrapped Sam’s knee for purchase as he stumbled back with the force.

                Sam had thought he could go through with it - anything to rescue his brother, to save the people that would be hurt if he didn’t - but he couldn’t endure the lustful cravings for touch knowing it was Crowley pawing at him. There must be another way. Placing his bare feet on the rough floor, Sam stood up, his hips throbbing as blood pooled in the bruises.

                He scowled at Crowley, challenging the darkness in the demon’s look, their bare bodies a hair’s breadth apart. Sam needed to move quickly to keep the upper hand, but, chalk it up to the streak of humanity Crowley maintained around Sam, or that he’d been an ally as often as an enemy, or even to the fact all his attempts to destroy the Winchesters failed on Scooby Doo villain levels, whatever, there was something about the King of Hell that stopped Sam from being on full guard. Crowley jabbed, punching the breath from Sam’s lungs with an audible “oof.” He swept Sam back, the man struggling against the numinous power pinioning him to the bed. The demon straddled Sam’s waist, hovering over Sam on hands and knees.

                “I will tear your throat out!”

                “Keep talking dirty.” Crowley rocked his hips down, poking Sam’s belly with his erection.

                “Fuck you.”

                “If you’re up for it afterwards.” The King nuzzled into the crook of Sam’s neck, biting down.

                “Bastard!” Sam cursed, Crowley’s sharp tongue probing his ear. “There’s no point.” Sam hoped, “The deal’s – umpf” He choked on the filthy sock forcibly stuffed in his mouth.

                “Don’t be ridiculous,” Crowley intoned, “Do you really want to give up your stake in this?” He looked Sam in the eye until Sam broke the gaze darting his eyes around the room looking for escape and Crowley knew he’d gotten his point across. Affectionately, he brushed the long strands of hair behind Sam’s ears and sat heavily on Sam’s stomach, his body heat subtle like a cooling corpse. Bugs crawled under Sam’s skin, helpless to even shake the chill from his spine. The demon king cupped the hunter’s face tenderly, the days old scruff scratching his lotion soft palms. Sam closed his eyes, exhaling slow and deep. Crowley’s caresses drifted down Sam’s jaw, brushing his neck, disappearing at his jugular notch.

                Crowley rolled off. Goosebumps pimpled Sam’s flesh, suddenly cool where their heat had mingled. Immobilized on his back, Sam followed Crowley’s movements as best as he was able. The demon repositioned Sam on the edge of the bed, legs spread and knees bent, as he had been before, each limb posed as easily as if he were a puppet. Blood drained from Sam’s face watching Crowley examine his work, realizing Crowley didn’t even think of him as that; puppets were allowed a mock sort of sentience. The demon looked at Sam as if he were a delicacy. Pushing Sam’s buttocks apart, Crowley pressed a finger against the still slick rim before stepping back with a pompous smirk and lazily stroking his dick. Sam looked away. Anything about to be shoved in his ass would look too big, but he suspected Crowley chose his vessel for a very specific reason.

                An exclamation of surprise and fury died quietly on the sock gag. Crowley engulfed Sam’s prick in his wet mouth, humming happily as it hardened into the back of his throat. For the first time in his life, Sam was grateful to be paralyzed, incapable of indulging the savage urge to clutch the demon’s head and vigorously fuck into his lips until come dripped from his gaping mouth and choked tears streamed down his cheeks, exchanging violence for violence.

                _To save Dean_ , Sam shut his eyes, swallowing all emotion. _Think about how it feels._

                Crowley worked his tongue up the underside of Sam’s cock, pressing the head into the roof of his mouth. A hand pumped the shaft in rhythm with deep sucks. Sam’s swelling sex filled the demon’s hot mouth and he fell into a familiar masturbation scenario, knowing he’d never be able to use it again, but hoping it would get him off quickly one last time.

 

_A nameless woman pushes him against the back wall of a dressing room; cherry red lips spread in a suggestive smile as she pulls his dick into her mouth. His fingers running through silky hair, knowing he has to keep quiet or be discovered with her head bobbing on his cock._

 

                Immersed in his well rehearsed fantasy, wet heat assaulting his nerves, Sam rushed towards climax. His arousal faltered knowing something about this time was off. _Almost_ , he encouraged the fading vision. Sometimes he came down her throat, sometimes he pulled out and shot streaks over her vague features, but they were always caught just as it happened. His balls pulled up, the tension coiled back. Sam was desperate. Why couldn’t he summon someone to catch them? They needed to be compromised. Crowley pulled away with a sloppy pop, the sudden coldness as good as a curtain swishing back, tipping Sam over the peak. Fingers coiled firmly around the base of his prick, holding off the on rushing orgasm. The hunter mewled in objection.

                “Soon, darling.” The King purred, petting his partner’s coarse hair, eliciting muffled grunts of frustration. Crowley lined his purple head up with the inviting pucker. He felt all the muscles in Sam’s body held taut in the moment before culmination. The noises the boy made were sweet, carnal. Crowley doubted Sam knew he was begging, stuck in the mindless demand for release. He removed Sam’s gag.

                “Oh. Fuck. Need. Oh.” Sam panted. The demon’s hold knew every attempt to move, even when Sam had wanted to buck deep into his throat, sensed the muscle potential aching to pull away from the regulating grasp.

                Pre-come mingled with the lubrication that was all the prep Sam would receive. Firmly holding Sam in place, Crowley pushed his rock hard cock into the promised heat. Sam’s impossibly tight entrance resisted the intrusion and his oblivious pleas turned to pain. A lover would’ve stopped, gone back to square one, Crowley thrust harder forcing the muscle to open and accept him. Sam gurgled. The demon let the hunter climax, shoving himself deeper as come shot weakly onto the boy’s belly, his ass convulsing around demon dick. Sam writhed as agony and rapture split his body in two. His glossy eyes snapped into focus as Crowley bottomed out, balls pressed into his searing backside, his rectum protesting the fullness.

                Sam’s mouth hung open, the entreaty to stop halted by his mantra: _To save Dean._

                Crowley rocked his hips, heaving lustily, using Sam's thighs for leverage, and slapping their bodies together. Sam bit his bottom lip hard. He had to keep quiet or they’d be caught. He stared widely at the ceiling, tears collecting in the corners of his eyes. When Crowley stabbed especially hard, the boy gasped and grunted one of two words: “Save” or “Dean.”

                The King of Hell plunged viciously into Sam’s raw ass, aiming to strike the rectal walls, intent on leaving Sam so torn and bruised he’d never be able to look at his brother without feeling exactly what it cost to get his precious Dean back.

                Blood flooded Sam’s mouth from where he’d bit through his lip, the crimson flow dripping down his chin and neck. Strung out and exhausted from the harrowing pounding, Sam’s broken chant slurred to just the one word encompassing his whole existence: “Dean.”

                Crowley flushed hearing Sam pant his brother’s name between hurt moans. Excited by the thought of a dehumanized Dean standing opposite of him as they fucked Sam back and forth, Crowley grabbed the back of Sam’s head and lifted, crushing their mouths together, finalizing their deal. The demon licked the blood off Sam’s lips, suckling the open wound. Lost in the heat of Sam’s tight ass and the sweet, metallic tang of his blood, Crowley’s hold on Sam wavered. The hunter managed a sharp knuckled punch across the King’s jaw. Red-eyed, Crowley grabbed the offending wrist, twisting until bone ground bone and a sick crunch was drowned by a yelp of pain. Crowley came hard, thrusting jerkily as spurt on spurt filled Sam to dripping. The demon collapsed on top of his prey, continuing to hump into the abused hole until his breathing settled and his eyes appeared human again. His cock softened and slipped out, sticky with blood and come.

                Crowley pat Sam twice on his bruised cheek, “You did good, Moose.”

                Sighing, he got up using Sam’s t-shirt to clean off his dick and wipe the smear of Sam’s half dried come from his chest. Crowley tossed the rag over Sam’s navel, dressing swiftly and disappearing in a snap.

 

                Days might’ve passed, Sam didn’t know. Moving would somehow confirm it was real, so he lay still: naked, bruised, bloody and impassive. The dried come itched. His broken wrist throbbed. His entire body felt as if he’d been hit by a train. It didn’t matter. His vacant eyes long since dry of the tears that escaped while Crowley pounded him. He’d agreed, undressed himself and gotten on the bed but then he tried to back out. What was Sam worth if he’d nullified the contract? What had he let Crowley take if the deal wasn’t still on? Sam felt dead inside, which reassured him. If his soul was Crowley’s then he hadn’t failed Dean with his cowardice.

                Wind swirled through the stagnant cabin, chilling Sam’s fevered flesh. The shiver that ran through him caused a dribble of come to escape his torn ass. He leaned over the edge of the bed, vomiting paint thinner quality booze and stomach acid. The mattress jolted with the shock of a dead weight being dropped on it.

                “Your arsenic.” Crowley stood checking his jacket for stains.

                “Dean!” Sam pulled his brother closer, wincing and whimpering at the pain that movement sent screaming through his being, before verifying his brother was alive.

                Dean’s clothes were torn and stained rust brown with dried blood. A rip exposed a portion of his bare chest where scratches scabbed. Dean’s nose was freshly broken.

                “Crowley.” Sam accused.

                Crowley shrugged, “He resisted.”

                “It’s over? He’s free?” Had he finally done it? Sam grabbed Dean’s right arm, pushing the plaid sleeve up, willingly enduring the agony in his own. The Mark of Cain shined like an old burn. “What the fuck?”

                “I keep my deals. That is a reminder for you to bear in mind the next time I call.”

                “There is no next time. We’re done. That was the deal.”

                “I recall the deal was you wouldn’t oppose my designs.” Hooded eyes rolled down the lines of Sam’s bare body.

                Cold tendrils snaked through his heart, dawning comprehension gripping his throat in terror. He felt used, dirty, exposed. Sam tried to hide his nakedness behind Dean’s prone form.

                “No. I – ” Sam choked down a sob, “ _that_ wasn’t part of the deal.”

                Raising his eyebrows, he glanced sideways at Sam and asked, “Do you think so?”

                Crowley stroked the boy’s unmarred cheek. Sam cringed away, clinging to his big brother for safety. The King of Hell chuckled and vanished.


End file.
